“Truth, like gold, is to be obtained not by its growth,
but by washing away from it all that is not gold.” ― Leo Tolstoy
Native American Crazy Hip Hop
courtesy of Rebeliant Beatz
by Kendall F. Person
Sometimes, it seems like the spinning won’t stop. Around and around we go, chasing our tails like four-legged animals, that are not born with the same sense of logic and self, like the beings with dominion over them. Sometimes, the spinning is out of control. We change a step and call it a new plan, than wonder why when the spinning slows down, allowing a temporary respite, we find ourselves back at start; and to make matters worse, time openly mocks us.
Sometimes, the unimaginable occurs and the spinning stops all by itself. But rather than kick, we instead drag our feet or make excuses or throw up our hands, as if it will be that easy, to up and walk away. But sometimes, a defeated reluctance in acceptance of our lot, rains down in a continuous burst of clouds, that only the gurgling sounds of our own drowning, forces the nerve to jump start the heart.
Sometimes, it is not us who have stopped, in fact, we are doing all we can, but the spinning of family or friends or the neighborhood is so out of synch, that we are caught in the crosswind, and vertigo is how we feel. Helplessness cascades down upon us, than surrounds everything around us. Soon we get beside ourselves, thinking that since we were unable to change the world, that all is lost, as if our hand full of arrows, each failing to hit bullseye, is an excuse to give up.
Sometimes, mother nature destroys our home and underneath the rubble, caused by an act of God or really bad luck, we find our beloved, and the mix of emotions of grief from loss and peace that their spinning has topped, overwhelms us. But the wind is in such turmoil, that no reprieve from the spin. Or perhaps a nation in upheaval, spinning faster and faster still; and the war between fact and fiction, is like a seesaw without balance. And we try to believe in the leaders we follow, but the closer we get, the cliffs in the distance, we can no longer imagine are mirages.
There are solutions to stop the spinning, to every ill that burns, like the fires that blaze in the mountains, as if in pursuit of the final days. But if we cannot – if only for a moment – strip away the notion of every man for himself or keeping our heads down or sitting stagnant, awaiting the aftermath, we will never find the answers and perhaps the spinning is self-deserved.
Rather we see it or not, and while we may never be of one mind, we are caught up in the same vortex, that rips away at solid ground We can either glide or run or band together and join onto the wind – by hoping or praying or marching or voting or in denying the power of lies. But one thing is certain, the world will keep spinning and if we do not take dominion over the gusts of civility and topple the burst of division, the wind will be left to its own devices, and may drop us in a place, where the spinning is devoured by fire.
this is… The Neighborhood delivering an analogy based on the current reality. Do not be timid about adding your voices, and listening in return, for I know what I know, but I am nowhere close to knowing everything.
We are more like animals, than imagined.
The Fear Inside When There is Nothing to Hide
Like Man –
March of the Flamingos
That was lovely. We are often paralyzed by fear and yet the wind is always at our back pushing us to do what is right if only we will listen.
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